


The Whole Ice Cream She-Bang

by helo572



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Drabble, Ice Cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8519872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helo572/pseuds/helo572
Summary: The Sixth Doctor has an unhealthy encounter with ice cream and abrupt Chiswick locals. Peri is not supportive.





	

“How are the glistening golden halls of Javier Third the Kind Conqueror not fancy enough for you, Peri?” the Doctor demands, flicking his gaze over the console to his assistant, who is in the middle of sighing.

 

She's wearing a blue-green frock which clings to her shoulders, and her bob is dancing around her neck, moving accordingly as her shoulders droop.

 

“That's not  _ fancy _ ,” she insists in return, her upper lip shrivelling slightly, “that's  _ compensating. _ ”

 

“Perhaps we should get you some glasses,” the Doctor quips, swiping his own bare brow with his thumb. He twists a few dials to avoid meeting her likely offended gaze.

 

Naturally, she laughs. “ _ Right _ , because  _ I'm _ the one who needs to assess the quality of their retinas!”

 

“Time Lords have perfect eyesight.”

 

“And humans have a dress sense.” She takes a step forward, setting a hand on the console. “Somewhere fancy that isn't like a rich man's sore private bits, please.”

 

He sighs, twisting the same dials again, adjusting their landing coordinates. “ _ Fine _ ,” he answers. “How about Buckingham Palace during the reign of the Queen Elizabeth the First? Good ol' Liz, always had a taste for good architecture and decoration.”

 

“Ye Olde England, that's more like it,” Peri praises. A hand hits the console:  _ tap tap. _ “Well, come on, then!”

 

They land, when the Doctor steps outside, it's a bustling modern English street, and Peri turns to him, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Hmm,” is all he says at her unimpressed gaze. “Must be a loose circuit somewhere. I'll have to check that right away.” He turns on his heel, about to enter the TARDIS again, but Peri grabs him by the arm.

 

“Oh, Doctor! Look!” she cries, and he looks, and she's pointing at a quaint little ice cream stand that looks like it's been sewn badly into the street corner. How very England. At his sigh, she narrows her gaze, reminding him, “You said Liz the First. We're both disappointed. Now, at least, make it up to me with ice cream.”

 

“Peri, you are not a child,” he criticises in return. “Plus, the way they do it on Earth is so... primitive. There's a whole race who dedicate their  _ lives _ to creating ice cream, it's part of their toxin system, it produces it as a by product.”

 

“That's disgusting,” Peri deadpans in return.

 

“That's  _ nature _ ,” he corrects. “You shouldn't be so narrow minded.”

 

“You should get me ice cream,” she returns.

 

“ _ I  _ should fix the TARDIS. Who knows where else we might end up!”

 

“Oh, but Doctor, you shouldn't be so narrow minded.” She rolls her eyes, reaffirms her grip on his arm, and starts walking to the stand.

 

“Peri! The fate of the universe could be at stake, if something is wrong with the TARDIS!” he cries in protest, but his feet still follow hers down the street.

 

“Don't be so narrow minded,” she repeats. Then the ice cream man’s attention is on them, and Peri is chatting away with that bubbly American accent of hers. He huffs a sigh, falling into step beside her.

 

Three minutes later, Peri hands him a cone filled with a sickly-looking pink blob covered in syrup and sprinkles. He turns his nose up at it, holding it at arm's length.

 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks. “I am not an ice cream holder, Peri. I am the  _ Doctor. _ And I  _ need _ to fix my TARDIS!”

 

“Better eat it,” Peri suggests in return, smiling sweetly over the top of her own ball of sugar, which is brown and covered in wafers. “You won't be able to fix the TARDIS with one hand, or sticky hands. It's the only feasible solution here.”

 

“Peri!”

 

“Mum, Mum, look! The ice cream man got a new clown!”

 

_ That _ makes the Doctor tear his gaze from his giggling assistant to the small child pointing at him, grinning expectantly. The mother is smiling, too.

 

“I am  _ not _ –” he pipes up.

 

“Yeah, where's your face paint, Mr Dandy Flower?” Peri teases. “Did you leave it in the car again? Hang on, I'll get it for you–” She darts off, licking a piece of stray ice cream dripping off the cone as she goes.

 

“Peri, I swear to Rassilon...” He's about to start after her, but the little boy tugs at his coat, looking up at him expectantly.

 

Suddenly there’s multiple children crowded around him, and he's ready to start fuming, so he steps away to start after Peri. Which makes the ice cream lose its grip on the little cone and tip onto the ground, but not before meeting one woman's perfectly ironed suit pants.

 

The woman, a redhead with murder in her eyes, stops in her tracks. She looks at him, mouth agape. The Doctor stares back, eyes wandering between the empty ice cream cone and her trousers (in the most innocent fashion).

 

“Well!” she cries suddenly. “Aren't you goin’ to clean tha’ up?!”

 

“I-”

 

“I can’t show up to my interview like this!” She gestures down at her slacks, hands hovering above the ice cream sized stain, too disgusted to wipe it away. “Do you  _ know _ how hard it was for me to even get my  _ foot _ in the door!” She looks back at him, jabbing a finger into his face. He steps back. “Do you?!”

 

With a sudden swipe of her hand, the ice cream trailing down her light brown slacks is suddenly in a stripe across the Doctor’s face, a cold mess flicked across his forehead. In the corner of his eye, he sees one of the mothers hurriedly pull her child away, throwing a dirty look over her shoulder at the pair of them.

 

“Well  _ maybe _ you should look where you’re walkin’!” he splutters back, wiping in disgust as the sticky mess on his forehead. 

 

She looks him up and down, upper lip curled in disgust. “I couldn’t bloody miss you, mate, anybody could spot you from a whole city away! And you still managed to ruin my day!”

 

“You didn’t have to put it on my  _ face _ ! It was an accident-!”

 

“You yellin’ at me? Wot gives you that  _ right _ , mister? You better watch it, mate, watch out. Donna Noble doesn’t take  _ anythin’ _ from blokes like you.” Most of the ice cream has seen plopped to the floor, leaving only a sizable dark stain on her trousers. Pulling her coat around herself covers most of it, an inconspicuous mark which peaks out the bottom of the matching brown coat. “Oi, facepaint looks good on you, too. Might even make a real job as a clown at this rate.” With a final glare, she takes off down the street, heels clicking briskly, leaving the Doctor in the dust.

 

He stares after her in a stunned silence, hand frozen halfway to his face. He looks back at the ice cream vendor, who pointedly avoids eye contact, then to his helpful assistant, who is in stitches laughing at him on the corner.

 

He feels defeated, suddenly, not angry. Out-argued and out-sassed by a human _. _ What a disgrace. He can never show his face here again, that’s for sure. He prefers the sides of history when there is  _ not _ ice cream smeared across his forehead.

 

“We’re leaving,” he announces shortly to Peri as he passes her, who just laughs more.

 

He’s a little too muddled about the whole she-bang to tell her off.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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